Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Eighteen. Halfway Happy

EIGHTEEN
— halfway happy

SHE'D NEVER ADMIT to being emotionally unavailable. It was the one thing she hadn't grown from, a trait she was absolutely stuck with, and possibly, her biggest flaw. It started as a child— refusing to cry after scraping her knee on the sidewalk, holding a stone-cold face after a fight with her mother. It was something that seemed to just be rooted in her mind; the connection between showing emotions, and weakness.

    Lucy was exhausted. She hadn't had a full nights rest in what seemed like ages— her nightmares were growing worse. Tossing and turning, covered in a thin layer of sweat, chest heaving, hands shaking, it's how she woke up, every night. Even if she had someone to ask for help, she wouldn't be willing to reach out; she'd rather suffer in silence.

    The clock read 12:01 AM. It wasn't too late, but considering that she had called it a night at 11:30, it was outrageous to already be up. With her legs hanging over the side of her bed, Lucy tried to regulate her breathing. The nightmares had morphed into something new— the Demogorgan wouldn't leave her mind. She kept imagining it, chittering, roaring, pouncing on her achey body, stalking Will. It was truly enough to make her feel ill.

    The door creaked open. She flinched, and it was barely noticeable, but he saw. Jim muttered a quick apology, "Sorry," the man said. "I saw your lamp on, I thought, maybe you fell asleep and forgot."

She shot her hands up to the sides of her face, fingers quickly collecting the tears rolling on her freckled cheeks. Sniffling discreetly, Lucy shook her head. "No, it's fine," she spoke. "I just— I heard something fall, I wanted to check it out."

    He pursed his lips, nodding. "Right," Hopper said, hand loosely holding the doorknob. A moment passed, and he hesitated. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," she exhaled. "I'm just, uh, tired."

Jim raised his brows. "Yeah," he hummed, tapping his fingers on the doorframe. He spoke again, in a low tone, "You can talk to me, you know?" watching as Lucy nodded, he frowned.

She fiddled with the corner of her bedsheets. "Yeah, I know."

Clearing his throat, he continued. "So... you know you can tell me if somethings wrong," he spoke slowly, making sure each word was absolutely clear. "Right?"

Lucy's lip quivered. She inhaled, letting all the air bundle in her lungs. "It's just nightmares from what happened last year," her voice shook. "It's nothing, really."

    He sighed. "Luce," the man said. "I'm here, okay? No matter how bad those nightmares are, I'm not going to let anything happen to you..." he nodded, affirming his words. "I promise."

The girl nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you."

Jim returned the small, tight-lipped smile. He turned around, leaving the door option just a crack. "Love you, kid," the man spoke.

"Good night," she mumbled, watching as the door closed shut. Pushing the flyaways from her forehead, Lucy wormed back under the covers. She felt her body sink into the mattress, warmth of the blanket enveloping her. When she was positive her father was gone, she rolled over, facing the wall. "Love you too, Dad."